Childhood Games
by mattsloved1
Summary: Sherlock is once more bored. They begin talking about childhood games and have some unexpected fun along the way.    Epilogue now added!
1. Chapter 1

**Also, this piece is meant for Ariane DeVere. Partly because she was fantastic enough to write a transcript for each of S2's episodes. Thank you!**

**I do not own nor do I profit from.**

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><p>A balled up piece of paper hit John on the side of the head. He ignored it and continued reading. Ten seconds later another came his way, followed by a third less than a minute later. Knowing it was just his flatmate trying to get a rise out him, John took a deep breath and continued to read.<p>

Two minutes later, out of the corner of his right eye, John saw a black rubber ball rapidly coming his way. Without thinking, he reached up and grabbed it out of the air just before it made contact with his right temple. He turned towards the sulking figure lying on the sofa.

"I know you love to share with everyone that you're a genius, but do you really think it was smart throwing that bloody thing at me?" John glared as he wedged the ball between his hip and the chair.

"But I'm bored! And you wouldn't answer me when I threw the paper so I decided to use an object that was a little more substantial," Sherlock whined as he raised his legs up a few inches, before slamming them back onto the leather cushions.

"A little more substan- Sherlock! I would have had a headache for days _and_ a multi-coloured goose egg to go with it! And considering my luck? A concussion would have joined in the fun too, you ridiculous idiot!"

"Honestly, John, you needn't be so melodramatic. In order for you to have a concussion, I would have had to throw it with nearly twice as much force as I did," Sherlock answered, his tone bored.

"Oh, well, when you put it that way. Thank you for being so considerate," John grumbled as he reached for the newspaper again.

"John..."

No response.

"John..." Sherlock moaned pathetically as he kicked his left foot against an armrest.

Silence answered him.

He tried a final time. "John!" This time he wailed the name as he had when Mrs. Hudson had kidnapped his precious skull a second time.

Despite his best effort, John could not prevent the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Giving in to the inevitable, he folded up the paper and turned his gaze to the other side of the room.

"So nothing on the website then?"

Silence.

"Have you been in touch with Lestrade today? Seen if he has any cold cases you could look at?"

"Vacation."

"Right, I don't suppose you owe Myc-" John decided not to continue when Sherlock's eyes started to narrow.

Quickly searching for other options before his flatmate declined into a 'mood', John came up with fifteen ideas he was forced to instantly disregard. Not wanting frustration to cloud his ability to think, John took a deep breath.

"You know, it would be a bit easier to fill in empty time if you could play cards or board games like the rest of us."

"Yes, our parents neglect in the area of teaching us moronic games certainly had a negative effect on the two of us whilst growing up." Sherlock reached down and grabbed a stray piece of paper and began to crumple it into a ball.

"At least then you might have known it's impossible for the victim to have done it when we played Cluedo," John grumbled. "But you and Mycroft must have played some games together. Besides chess I mean."

"There was only one game the two of us played and it was one that I created myself at the age of eight and Mycroft abhorred."

"Do I even want to guess?" John asked. From his own personal experience, he knew how annoying younger siblings could be and shuddered to think of what a bored young Sherlock might do to purposefully make a nuisance of himself.

Instead of answering, Sherlock got up from the sofa and walked over to John. Stopping when he was only three inches away, the consulting detective pointed at John using his left hand. John watched as the long finger continued towards him until it hovered next to his right cheek.

"Sherlock, what exactly are you doing?" John quietly asked. By breathing slowly through his nasal passages, he hoped to avoid making contact with the too close appendage.

"Haud Contactus," was the answer given.

"Haud what?" John questioned as he leaned away and turned towards Sherlock at the same time. Unfortunately, the slender digit followed him faithfully and continued taking up far too much of what John considered his 'personal space'. 'Personal' meaning it was his and no one else's, unless _he_ invited another into it with him. Quickly praying for patience, he attempted to ignore the offending finger.

"Haud Contactus, John. It's Latin for 'no touching'. It's a game I invented and it always amused me for endless hours. Especially when Mycroft was being more aggravating than normal." Pride filled Sherlock's voice as he wiggled his finger.

John roughly batted the finger away, including the hand it was attached to, and stood up. "Well I've got news for you. You didn't invent that game. Some other irritating kid invented that game to annoy their brother or sister long before you ever did. Harry loved to play 'no touching' while we were growing up. Nice try."

Sherlock scowled and made his way back to the sofa.

"You seriously didn't play any other games when you were growing up? Not even _yellow car _when you were travelling?" John put the kettle on and reached up for the tin of tea.

"I assume I'm meant to know this _yellow car_ game you just mentioned."

"Yes, you know, while you're on holiday travelling, you spend part of your hours on the road playing games to pass the time. _Yellow car_ was the one Harry and I always loved the most. Course our dad always won since he was in the front seat and could see the oncoming traffic first," John explained as he sat in his seat again.

"Do you honestly believe, knowing how well my brother and I get along, that our parents would have intentionally kept us in such a small enclosed space for a long space of time? Holidays were spent abroad at the family manor in France and my parents made certain Mycroft and myself were not seated next to one another during the flight." Sherlock started picking at a small hole on the sofa back with his fingernail.

"No, now that you mention, I guess I can't. But I refuse to believe you never played tag. With either your brother when you were little or another of your family members. A distant cousin maybe, or either of your parents." For some reason, thinking of a young Sherlock not playing tag at least once did not sit well with John.

"All of my cousins are Mycroft's age, father being home was a rare occurrence and mother would never consider behaving in such an unsophisticated manner. Really John, I fail to see why you have such concern over my childhood and its lack of foolish games."

"Because Sherlock, every child should have the opportunity to have fun. To be carefree and not worry about finding joy in doing something silly." John shook his head. Remembering back to his own childhood, he attempted to explain. "When I was little, Harry and I would always spend the summer with our grandfather and Nan in the country. One thing Nan and I loved to play was tag. She would always be 'it' first and we would run around until she finally caught up with me and said pieni, instead of you're it, which meant it was my turn to chase her, and when I caught her I'd have to say it. Sometimes we could go on for over an hour, just having fun together."

John thought for a moment before getting up and making his way across the room. He lightly tapped Sherlock on the feet.

"Move over please," he asked politely.

Sherlock looked up at his flatmate and quickly realised this to be one of the times when John would wait as long as necessary. Deciding to give in, he moved his feet closer to the middle of the sofa but made certain to heave a loud sigh. Both men examined the other until a mischievous grin appeared on John's face. Sherlock's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Such a grin usually meant trouble for him and he instantly began running possibly scenarios through his mind. None of the situations he had thought of were correct he soon found.

He could tell the detective was briefly startled. Touch was a rare occurrence between the two men and usually initiated by Sherlock when it occurred. As he attempted to process the warmth bleeding through the tailored shirt, John could tell his friend's breath had caught as space between the two men lessened. John leaned over and placed the tips of his right hand onto Sherlock's left shoulder. "You're it."

Sherlock jerked his head back in surprise. "What?" he asked, confusion filling his pale features.

"I said, you are it," John answered, a smirk firmly in place.

It took a moment for Sherlock's mind to recall what they had been talking about shortly before. When he did, he snorted. "Honestly John, you truly expect me to play a game of tag with you? Aren't you twenty-five years too late? I have to admit to being a bit surprised by this childish suggestion. Aren't you the one who tells me I'm the one who acts like a child?"

Not allowing himself to be deterred, John softly tapped Sherlock on the shoulder and announced, "I prefer to think of it as being child_like_ instead. And you're still it."

"John-"

"And if you don't play the game Sherlock, you'll have to live with the knowledge that every moment of every day you...are... it. We both know how much you need to be the winner," John taunted.

Sherlock's left eyebrow twitched. He shrugged off John's hand abruptly as he got up from the sofa. "John, that is absolutely ridiculous. Your attempt to manipulate me will simply not work. Frankly I'm insulted and more than a little disappointed in your effort. And I thought you had to say piene while playing this game? It would seem you can't even play correctly."

"Well pieni is what my Nan always had us say. She was from Finland so... " A slight blush coloured his cheeks. "But everyone else would just say what I did. Honestly, would it kill you to just play along? Mrs. Hudson's gone for the day so she won't know, Lestrade is on holiday so there's no worry about the police showing up unannounced and Mycroft would only know if the flat was bugged and it..." John's voice trailed off as he glanced towards Sherlock worried.

"No John, there are no bugs in the flat. My biweekly inspections have found nothing since our first month of habitation."

Relieved, John returned to the problem at hand. "All right, so there's no way anyone would find out. Now explain to me what the problem is."

Sherlock came to the side of the sofa and began listing reasons as he counted them off on his right hand. "There are five very simple reasons why such an exercise is unnecessary. One, the time for such games has passed. Two, its stupid. Three, I refuse to look so unrefined. Four, its stupid-"

"You already said that!" John complained.

"Yes, well, it certainly needs repeating. And fifth, and finally," he placed his hand on John's left shoulder as the man slouched down, "pieni"

Within the next ten seconds, four things quickly happened. John actually processed what Sherlock had said, he looked up in amazement, a wide grin stretched across his face, and he pushed himself off of the sofa before rushing into the kitchen after Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

**This piece is meant for Ariane DeVere partly because she was fantastic enough to write a transcript for each of S2's episodes. Thank you! **

**Also thanks to VerityBurns for looking over this for me! ;)**

**I do not own nor do I profit from.**

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><p><em>This will be too easy<em>, Sherlock thought as he raced into the kitchen. He instantly noted the closed doors and knew the time used to open one of them would ultimately lead to his defeat. Going around the main table and back into the living room seemed the only real option. _Adding an obstacle for John would be advantageous in such a small space_, he decided.

Reaching out, Sherlock pulled one of the breakfast table chairs into the area he had just vacated and continued on. He was confident John would take the shortest route and come directly behind. It stood to reason since John was always following Sherlock. Therefore, he should instinctively do the same now. Unfortunately for Sherlock, he had forgotten the tactical training John had learned whilst in the army.

Being able to think like the enemy had been a practice the army doctor had excelled at and, since joining Sherlock's business, the consulting detective had witnessed this skill working to their advantage time and again. He had never considered it might be used against him. Yet, as he headed towards the right hand corner of the kitchen, Sherlock saw he had once again underestimated his friend.

John had not followed in his steps once they had entered the kitchen. While Sherlock had moved the chair, John had noticed the closed doors and known his flatmate would need to follow the only natural path available. So, when Sherlock turned to face the living room once more, he came face to face with the one he had tried to avoid. Before he could even begin to consider another course of action, calloused hands grabbed hold of his forearms.

Inhaling in surprise, Sherlock wasn't exactly certain if it was being caught or John's hands on his person that had caused his reaction, his mouth dropped as John leaned closer.

"Pieni," he declared, a smug grin on his face.

"John," Sherlock answered, while wondering how the skin John was currently touching could feel warmer than the rest of him. It wasn't rational, he determined, not rational at all.

"Admit it Sherlock, I got you." John moved forward and gave Sherlock no choice but to step back until he felt the chill from the refrigerator's metal seep through his shirt. "I caught you fair and square. Now you..."

Sherlock found it difficult to swallow as John rose his face up, his voice lowering to a whisper.

"...have to catch me!" On the final word, John stepped away and took off with a chuckle.

Feeling a bit bewildered, Sherlock pushed against the refrigerator to help him move forward. It seemed John felt confident in his ability of evading his pursuer in their living room. As he stood against the door frame, Sherlock saw his friend was in front of the right window, near the sofa and coffee table. The only movement visible were the crinkles in the corners of his eyes that twitched as he smiled. But Sherlock wasn't easily fooled. He knew John was only waiting to see how he would be approached before the choosing the direction in which to run.

_Which way, which way_, Sherlock pondered.

To move towards the middle of the room meant John would slip between the sofa and coffee table. Since any papers and books pertaining to their last case had been cleaned and put away there was nothing to prevent a quick escape. It seemed the best choice for his opponent. However, if he moved between the two pieces of furniture himself, that would only leave space between the corner of their worktable and coffee table. John would have to slow down briefly in order to miss both and Sherlock could reach out and easily snag him. He was certain this was the best course of action.

Decision made, he wasted no time moving briskly towards the man currently grinning at him in a cheeky manner. As he took his first step to the right, he watched as John remained in place. As Sherlock continued, his pace accelerated. When he stepped between the sofa and coffee table, John darted to his right and, placing his hand on the work table, jumped onto it and scrambled hastily across the flat surface. Shock caused Sherlock to slow for an instant, but he pressed on as he threw out his right hand to try and grab for any part of John he could possibly reach.

His fingers met air as they missed by mere inches. Sherlock's shin hit the corner of the coffee table and he silently cursed as he watched John stand, now on the opposite side of the table he had just climbed over. Watching John manoeuvre himself between the chess table and Sherlock's chair, Sherlock moved towards him. While cleaning earlier, John had moved his flatmate's violin to the top of the chess table and he was now slowed by his concern for the instrument and the possibility it might fall. Not wanting to risk damage to the piece, John turned sideways.

This gave Sherlock time to reach the front of the fireplace as John passed it by. Now, when Sherlock's hand reached for cotton material, it connected. He grabbed a fistful of the back of John's shirt and did not let go. Being stopped so unexpectedly, nearly took John's feet out from under him. Neither moved until Sherlock began to lightly pull his right hand back towards himself.

"John," he taunted, as he deliberately reeled his catch in.

Sherlock was convinced the grin still had not left John's face and there was a sudden warmth in his chest. Foolishness, he cautioned himself. Yet, even then his hand continued until it was sandwiched tightly between his ribcage and John's back. He could feel John's breathing.

Leaning down he placed his mouth beside John's left temple and whispered, "Pieni". He heard John gasp before letting go abruptly. Turning around, Sherlock ran swiftly to the open door and tore down the steps.

Five extra inches in height meant that, in a more open space, he should outdistance his friend without any real effort. Yet John had not only been limp free for the past year, but had also been Sherlock's partner in crime solving. This meant the miles they had run together had helped John lose any softness, or slowness, he might have acquired those first months after returning from Afghanistan. John could keep up with Sherlock quite easily and even, at times, pass him by. This fact was impressed upon Sherlock just as he reached the first landing. John was already clattering down the stairs himself.

Taking the chase outside would not work for three reasons, the detective felt. Two had to do with the people who might happen to see them acting in such a manner. Lestrade was known to show up unexpectedly, at times with Donovan and Anderson in tow, and he could be certain Mycroft's CCTV cameras were watching his every move as well. But it was the fact that neither he nor John were wearing shoes that made Sherlock choose Mrs. Hudson's flat as his safe haven.

With John fast on his heels, Sherlock continued down. Feeling it might gain him a much needed lead, he jumped over the final three steps. Grabbing the very edge of the banister, he used it to swing himself sharply to the left.

"Mrs. Hudson!" he yelled.

Screeching to a halt in front of their landlady's door, he seized the handle and turned it hard, ready to make a dash around the older woman, and was surprised when it refused to open. He frantically tried again but the result was the same.

"She's not in," he heard behind him. "Went out with Mrs. Turner earlier to see the St. Patrick's Day festival at Trafalgar Square remember? She told us her plans yesterday."

Sherlock turned his head to see John at the foot of the staircase. No chance of escape, Sherlock watched and waited. _This must be how a mouse feels, _he thought, briefly pitying the small animal.

John walked slowly towards him while raising his hands in front of him, at shoulder level, his fingers slightly curled downwards. Sherlock recalled the iconic image he had once seen in the silent film _**Nosferatu **_Mycroft had shown him when they were thought vanished when John marginally lowered his hands and began to wiggle them while raising his left eyebrow. Sherlock could not help but smile.

Seeing his friend's expression, John began to move his fingers in a more exaggerated manner. By that point, there was no use for it. The man many believed to be heartless and cold burst out in laughter. It wasn't the fake or controlled laughs John was used to hearing. No, this laugh was true.

Knowing failure was unavoidable, Sherlock continued to laugh as he turned his head back to Mrs. Hudson's door and leaned his forehead against the glass. Each creak in the floorboards alerted Sherlock to John's exact location. But he found the auditory clues weren't necessary since he was certain he could 'feel' him with each step. Every time John's foot made contact, Sherlock knew the hairs on his arms stood to attention.

"I believe I have a right to say Pieni. Don't you agree?" John asked.

Sherlock felt a light tap on left shoulder. Not able to speak properly, he nodded his head. Turning around, he found John about to fall into a fit of giggles.

"All right," Sherlock made his way to the staircase. "All right, you win," he conceded.

He lead them up the staircase and as John reached the first landing, Sherlock quickly turned, tapped John on the head, yelled out, "pieni!" and continued upwards, his feet barely touching wood. John followed, and if Mrs. Hudson had been home she would have heard her boys laughing once more.

Sherlock reached the top of the stairs in record time and had soon re-entered their living room. This time, however, he immediately took the stairs that lead up to John's room. Throwing open the door, he moved to the middle of the room, turned and then stopped.

John had slowed his speed halfway up to his room but still managed to surprise Sherlock when he threw his arms around his friend and pushed him onto the bed. Not letting go, John followed his friend. Sherlock soon found his wrists held lightly and his legs straddled, John smiling down.

Sherlock knew his current position should have had him pushing John away and striding from the room but, strangely enough, he was...content. Content to look up at John and wait.

John's expression faded to one of fondness. It was a look Sherlock had glimpsed briefly in the past but now it was close to him and he felt the need to reach out and touch. Moving his hands out of John's grasp, he brought them up to the face above. He saw John look confused until the tips of his long fingers began tracing where the crinkles had been a short time before. Sherlock was happy to find fondness directed at him once more.

John hesitantly lowered his head until their faces were only a breath away from one another.

"Small one," Sherlock murmured.

"What was that?" John queried.

"Small one, it's what your Nan used to call you. What she'd say when you were young and played the game with her. 'Pieni' is Finnish for 'small one'."

"Yes, yes it was. Nan called me that until the day she died when I was twenty-five years old. But how did you know?" Sherlock opened his mouth to answer. "Never mind, it was for a case wasn't it?"

"Yes, jewels belonging to the President's wife were stolen. It involved a white Bengal tiger and some –"his words were stopped.

Sherlock found John's lips as soft as he had imaged previously. Not that he would ever admit to thinking such a thing. Now it was not a thought but a known fact. John's lips were soft and, when his tongue darted out to touch Sherlock's bottom lip, the detective was convinced that thinking could be done at a later time when such interesting things were occurring at that moment. Despite being inexperienced in such matters, he had always been a quick study and it wasn't long before both men were pulling back for air.

"So, I guess playing a children's game wasn't so terrible after all was it?" John leaned his head against his right hand while his left buried into the curls behind Sherlock's ear.

"I suppose the idea had merit after all." His hands dropped to John's waist and, finding the shirt had come untucked, he slid them over the smooth skin he was now allowed to touch.

John moaned before dropping his head to Sherlock's right shoulder. "Minun pieni," being said in his ear brought John's head up quickly though and a suspicious look to his face.

"What was that?" he challenged, trying to ignore the roaming fingertips currently distracting him.

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked with a sly grin.

"The only person who ever called me that was my Nan as a term of endearment. Let me assure you Sherlock Holmes, that there is –" a hand massaging one of his buttocks caused John to close his eyes briefly in bliss. Inhaling quickly he forced himself to continue. "There is nothing _little_ about me. And if you don't find yourself believing that then I guess I'll have to do something about that won't I?" He gently ground his hips down onto Sherlock's.

"Oh John..." with a wicked smile on his face, Sherlock raised his head, "please do".


	3. Chapter 3

**A reviewer shared an idea with me a little while ago and I was able to write this epilogue down today. :-D**

**Also thanks to VerityBurns for looking over this for me! ;)**

**I do not own nor do I profit from.**

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><p>"So, things still going well I take it?" Lestrade leaned against the police car beside John.<p>

Glancing over to where Sherlock was involved in a verbal battle with the inept Anderson, John grinned. "Yeah, things are going really well actually."

A few weeks after their game of tag, the DI had noticed a difference between the two men and confronted John during their next pub visit. Lestrade had promised to keep silent. Now, three months later, he was still the only person, besides Mycroft and Mrs Hudson, to know. John was ready to make their relationship public but was waiting for a sign from Sherlock.

Their discussion was interrupted.

"Lestrade please be kind enough to educate Anderson on the importance of not acting like an imbecile! I seem to be using words that are too large and complex for him to understand."

An outraged squeak from the forensics expert had John biting the inside of his lip and Lestrade sighing as he pushed off the car.

"Just one, that's all I ask, one case where we can all act like grownups. Is that too much to ask?" he muttered, on the way to separate the arguing men.

John looked towards the nearby ambulance, hoping a few breaths would combat the humour he felt at Lestrade and Anderson's expense.

A few minutes passed without any further problems as Sherlock shared his findings. With Lestrade's thanks, Sherlock walked over to stand in front of John.

"So, everything all taken care of then? You pointed them in the right direction?" John queried as he looked up, a smile on his face.

Sherlock pulled his leather gloves back on and sniffed. "Yes, although I truly wonder how they manage to solve any crimes without my help, John."

"Yes, how the world managed before the great Sherlock Holmes is mystery to us all." John's affectionate grin halted Sherlock's scathing comments. "Everything taken care of so we can go?"

"Nearly. There are two things more that must be done before we can depart."

Confused, John opened his mouth to speak, but found himself unable to get any words out. Asking, "what two things?", was impossible when his lips were covered and an insanely talented tongue was teasing his own. Mind suddenly blank, all John could do was throw his arms around Sherlock's neck, rise up on his toes and hold on for the ride.

By the time Sherlock let him go, John felt the inside of his mouth had been thoroughly examined and was thankful for the car to collapse against as he caught his breath.

"Not that I didn't..." Apparently his mind needed a few more seconds to work properly again. Sliding his hands down to the front of Sherlock's coat, and ignoring the man's smug grin, John gripped tightly.

"Okay," he began once more. "Not that I didn't thoroughly enjoy that but I'm wondering, why?"

Sherlock rested his hands on the police car, on either side of John's head.

"For the last eleven days you have thought about telling others about the change in our relationship. Three days ago, you decided it would be a positive step. Twenty days ago I had the same thoughts and came to the same conclusion. You have been wondering how to broach the subject with me. Now everyone knows. Problem solved."

John turned his head back towards the crime scene. Every officer's attention was focused solely on them. Except for Anderson and Donovan, smiles were on each face. In fact, Lestrade was chuckling as he took money from Hopkins and John saw others exchanging money too before he turned back to Sherlock.

"You know, by rights I should be pissed off about this. Not talking to me first before you decide to 'out' us to basically the entire force in public?" John noticed Sherlock's smile remained. "Honestly though, I can't be bothered to care."

"I always knew you were smarter than the rest of them, John."

John chuckled while moving to stand on his own. "So, now that everyone knows can we head home?"

"You do remember me telling you there were two things do you not?"

John nodded. "So what was the other thing?"

Sherlock leaned over to John's left ear and whispered, "pieni", before darting through the maze of nearby officers.

John's breath huffed out in surprise, contentment and happiness. He nodded a quick goodbye to Lestrade and tore after Sherlock.


End file.
